


can we surrender (i surrender)

by softEldritch (assbutts)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alpha Shiro (Voltron), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Omega Keith (Voltron), Sheith Secret Santa 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-24 11:06:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13212459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/assbutts/pseuds/softEldritch
Summary: Keith and Shiro are captured, and Keith goes into heat. Things proceed from there.[Written for @chriszoie17 / kriszoie.tumblr.com for the 2017 Sheith Secret Santa]





	can we surrender (i surrender)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kriszoie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kriszoie/gifts).



> Here you go, kriszoie! Your gift for the Sheith Secret Santa! I decided to go with some classic omegaverse, because omegaverse + angst is such a great genre combination. I hope you enjoy, and Merry Sheithmas!! 
> 
> Title from [Surrender by Natalie Taylor](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lo_WJgaTzwY&ab_channel=KHB)

Keith wakes up burning out of his skin. It’s the desperate kind of heat he used to feel back in his shack in the desert, drenched in sweat and stumbling around with an ice pack to his forehead.

He groans, gasps in a breath. The air is cool on his tongue, down his throat, and Keith keeps breathing deep for a long few seconds before even trying to move. There’s a throbbing in his head, sharp and familiar between his eyes. Even without moving he can feel the sweat on his body, plastering long hair to his temples and making the undersuit of his armour stick to his skin.

“Keith?” His eyes snap open, and it’s to see Shiro staring at him, eyes wide with concern. “Are you okay?”

“Shiro.” Keith doesn’t answer for a second. He looks around. Nothing but dark metal walls. There’s the seam of a sliding door on one wall, and a vicious purple line of light around all four walls. He looks down at himself, sees nothing but his undersuit, no Marmora armour at all. His eyes flash to Shiro. “Where are we?”

Shiro’s still staring. “You hit your head pretty hard,” he says carefully. His voice is soft, softer than it really needs to be, and Keith feels caught between annoyance at being treated like a delicate omega and warmth that it’s _Shiro_ treating him like that. “Do you remember what happened?”

A rundown. Keith can do that. He thinks back. “Rescue mission,” he says. His head aches but he pushes through. “A Galra tactician, loyal to the Resistance.”

Shiro nods. “What else do you remember?” Dark eyes bore into Keith’s, soft and pressing, and the heat spikes hotter on his skin.

Keith shakes his head. Pushes himself to sit up a little straighter. “We got into the ship. And we found her.” He shakes his head again. Fog is seeping into his thoughts, over his limbs, making his eyelids feel heavy, his blood syrupy. “But—fuck, there was more security than we thought.”

More than Lotor told them about. Rage flares in Keith’s chest, acid and painful. Seems just about all the info Lotor’s given them has gotten them in trouble.

“We got attacked,” he says, because Shiro’s still staring at him, waiting for more. “We almost got out, but they had that destabilizer gun.” A memory flashes across Keith’s eyes and he scrambles closer to Shiro, eyes caught on the silver in Shiro’s lap. “Shiro, your arm—”

“It’s fine,” Shiro says. He wiggles the fingers of his arm and smiles. A soft, tired smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I mean, I’m still in excruciating pain, but it’s nothing I haven’t had before.” His grin stretches wider.

That dark, scared thing in Keith’s chest burrows deeper. Like it always does when Shiro hides from him. It’s like nausea but somehow closer, more painful.

Keith doesn’t have the words to say it, though. So he looks around more, at their surroundings. Looks like a standard prison cell. No clear way out, no bed or toilet or anything else. Nothing they could use to escape. Shiro’s in his undersuit too, and Keith’s dagger’s been taken.

Okay. They can figure this out. Keith’s eyes flicker to Shiro, who’s staring at the silver hand in his lap, expression carefully blank.

They’re getting out of here. Shiro isn’t going to be a Galra prisoner again.

“What happened after I got knocked out?” Because Keith remembers that now, remembers doubling over in pain from that damn destabilizer, seeing Shiro biting down on a scream, before something hit the back of his head and everything went black.

Shiro narrows his eyes. “They threw us in here.” He winces, guilt flashing over the darkness of his eyes. “Keith, I’m sorry, I tried to check on you, but—”

Keith notices it a half second before Shiro says it. There’s a band of black metal around Shiro’s flesh wrist, chaining him to the far wall.

“It’s fine,” he says, throat going tight at the desperate sadness in Shiro’s eyes. “ _I’m_ fine, Shiro.”

“You could have a concussion, Keith.”

“I don’t.” Keith would know. He’s had enough over the years. His head hurts, but it’s something different, something sharper, in the wrong place. “I told you, I’m fine.”

“Humour me?” Shiro says it with a smile.

It’s the smile Keith’s never been able to say no to. The heat along his skin flushes brighter, sweat pooling at the small of his back. He shakes it off, crawls close enough to Shiro that their knees are touching.

Shiro checks him out. Quickly. Efficiently. He makes Keith answer questions and follow the movement of his finger and watches his eyes. Keith sits still and follows orders, and keeps his fists tight in his lap to keep himself from grabbing the trembling fingers of Shiro’s metal hand.

Finally, Shiro seems satisfied. Or, satisfied enough, considering their circumstances. “Okay,” he says. His smile has gone a little softer, a little more genuine. “You’re not concussed.”

“Told you.”

“ _Keith_.”

Keith flushes. It’s Shiro’s _leader_ tone of voice, controlled and commanding, and it never fails to make Keith’s entire body go hot. He sounds like an alpha. Heat pools at the base of Keith’s spine and he shakes with it, hands trembling in his lap.

“Woah, hey,” Shiro says, and he’s shuffling a little closer, until the chain keeping him at the wall creaks. His eyes have gone narrow in concern. “You okay?” His metal hand comes up between them and then stops, just inches before brushing Keith’s shoulder.

 _Touch me_.

Keith shakes his head. “I’m fine.” He doesn’t feel fine. He feels off-balance and sun-warm, his stomach twisting, head pounding with each heartbeat. “It’s just warm in here.”

For a long second, Shiro just looks at him. Then, slowly, carefully, he draws his hand back. “It’s cold, Keith.”

There’s something at the back of Keith’s head. Something he can’t really get ahold of. His head is swimming, eyelids heavy every time he blinks. “No, it’s . . .” he mumbles, because that can’t be right. He’s burning up. So hot it should hurt. “Fuck, Shiro—”

“Keith.” The way Shiro says it—it’s a command, a demand for attention. The low, steady sound of Keith’s name curls around his spine and drags him down, making his limbs even heavier. “Keith. You need to move, okay? Just go back to the other side of the room.”

Keith pants. It’s like he’s breathing in water. “What?” He shakes his head, sweat-damp hair sticking to his face.

“Just do it, Keith.” Shiro’s eyes are darker. Like molten steel, shadowed by his brow, digging into Keith’s skin. “Trust me, okay? Just trust me.”

_Always._

“Okay,” he says, and doesn’t move.

“Keith—”

“I said _okay_ ,” he snarls. Heat spreads through his limbs and pools in his gut, churning and twisting. “Just—give me a second. Gimme a second.”

The heat in his gut cramps and Keith doubles over, a wounded sound punching out of his chest. It _hurts_. The warm, dull kind of pain that Keith hasn’t felt in over two years, like he’s burning up from the inside out, like his stomach is sinking in on itself in the absence of—something.

Heat.

“Fuck,” he gasps, head bowed so low his hair is brushing the floor. “Fuck, Shiro—”

“You need to move, Keith.” Shiro’s voice is strong, and steady, and it falls on Keith like a blanket. Makes him want to bend his head down lower, so the narrow column of his neck is revealed, so Shiro can bite a mark into his spine.

He doesn’t. It’s a near thing, and he shakes from the effort of keeping still. But Keith’s not so far gone that he’s mindless with it. Not yet.

God. Any other way this’d be a dream come true. Going into heat only inches away from Shiro, hearing him talk in that low, steady voice. Shiro would be—not gentle, not exactly, but he would be steady and unrelenting. He would hold Keith down, keep him still as he scrambled, just to feel the pressure and the pull.

“ _Keith_.”

_Oh, God. Please._

“Keith, you _need to move_.” The urgency in Shiro’s voice, the bitter hint of desperation—it’s enough for Keith to look up through the curtain of his hair. Shiro’s dangerously still, nose twitching, mouth pressed tight. “You need to get away from me. Fuck, this isn’t—”

Right. _Right_. Shiro doesn’t want him.

It washes over Keith’s skin like cold water, cooling the careless heat in his belly. Shiro doesn’t feel the same. Shiro sees him as a friend, a comrade, a teammate. A protegee.

Not at all the way Keith sees Shiro. Because to Keith, Shiro is _everything_.

“I’ll move,” Keith gasps out, breathing so hard his ribs ache. “I’ll move.”

The heat still hurts. But now, rejection hurts more, a bitter taste on his tongue. Because Shiro doesn’t feel the same way, and Keith _knew that_ , but this keeps happening anyway. He keeps getting hurt.

Long seconds pass. Keith doesn’t move.

“Keith—”

“ _I’ll move_.” Fingers claw at his stomach, at his thighs, dragging across his undersuit and into his skin. That pain is easier to focus on. Sharper, more tangible.

He shuffles half a foot backwards.

“Keep going,” Shiro says. It’s not a command, it’s barely more than a whisper, but a moan catches in Keith’s throat at the sound anyway. “You have to keep going, Keith. I won’t—I don’t want to lose control. I don’t want to do something we’ll both regret.”

 _I wouldn’t regret it_.

Except Keith would. Because it’d be nothing to Shiro. It’d be instinct. The most basic facet of human reproduction. And Keith wishes so painfully that it could be the same for him.

Keith makes himself move until he’s back up against the wall. There’s a good few metres of distance between them now, and it helps. Being away from the heat of Shiro’s body. It’s a little easier to think.

“Good, Keith,” Shiro says, and the soothing, low tone of his voice—

Keith bites down a moan. “Don’t.” He barely gets it out, choking on it, a tremor running through the full length of his body.

Shiro’s eyes go wide. “Sorry,” he says, lifting both hands, though the flesh arm only gets halfway up before the chain creaks. “I’m sorry, Keith.”

“Just—stop talking.” Heat thrums in his gut and Keith grits his teeth and groans. He threads narrow fingers through his hair and tugs, focuses on the stinging in his scalp so he can’t feel the cramping. “Do you—how long has it been?”

They both know the question he’s asking. Has it been long enough that the team will know to mount a rescue mission? Will they even come?

Stupid question. Of course they’ll come. Shiro is trapped here too, and Voltron needs a head. Nobody else can pilot the Black Lion.

“It’s been almost twelve hours,” Shiro says. In the dim light of their cell his smile looks shaky. “I’m sure they’re coming, Keith. They’ll come.”

“What if they don’t?” He doesn’t mean to ask it. _Fuck_.

Shiro’s eyes go wide. “I—”

“What if they don’t come in time?” Already the cramping is getting unbearable, Keith’s head is going fuzzy. It hurts to breathe and his eyes won’t stay open. Dim purple light shines on the backs of his eyelids whenever he closes his eyes, blurry and indistinct. “I’m going into heat, Shiro, this is _serious_.”

“I know that, Keith.” Despite the rushing in Keith’s ears he can hear Shiro swallowing, hear the brushing of fabric as Shiro minutely shifts position. “But they’re coming. I know they are.”

Another wave of heat rocks through Keith’s core and he doubles over again. He bends until his forehead’s on the floor and the cool metal dulls the throbbing in his head, just enough that the heat at the back of his neck feels sharp and bitter. God, Shiro’s metal hand would be cold—and the rest of him would be warm, heating Keith up until the fever broke, skin pressed against skin—

“It could _kill me_ , Shiro,” Keith snarls, fingers digging hard into the meat of his thighs. His eyes are screwed shut, face twisted up in something between a grimace and a moan.

Shiro is very, very quiet. It lasts too long, and the heat buzzes just under Keith’s skin.

Finally, Shiro swallows again. The sudden sound makes Keith jolt, makes him want to crawl closer. But it hurts too much to move. “What did you say?”

Shiro’s voice is shaking. He sounds terrified.

Keith swallows down a lump in his throat. “You heard what I said,” he snaps. “God, _fuck_.”

“Keith, I’m going to need more than that.”

Both of them are breathing too loud. Too loud and too hard and too fast. Maybe that last one is just Keith. Air feels like syrup in his lungs, thick and sweet and hot. Shiro’s scent is thick in the air, warm like sunlight and sharp like electricity.

“I have bad heats,” Keith says after a pause. He lifts up just enough, flicks his eyes up enough to see Shiro’s face. “It’s why I suppress them.”

The purple lights make Shiro’s face into sharp lines and hard angles, his eyes immeasurably dark. He’s beautiful, and terrifying, and Keith’s body aches at the sight of him.

Shiro doesn’t move. Doesn’t even blink. “How bad are they?”

“Bad enough.” Keith’s only ever gone through one heat in his life, the first one, and it almost killed him. After that the Garrison set him up with suppressants, and then Allura synthesized some in the Castle’s labs, and ever since he’s basically been beta.

He’s not even due for a heat for another couple weeks. Maybe it’s stress. Maybe it’s from running himself ragged with the Blades. Doesn’t really matter, at this point.

“How bad, Keith.”

Keith shivers. Shiro sounds so . . . so _solid_. “My fever won’t break,” he says, slowly. His tongue feels too big for his mouth. “It’ll just keep getting worse. If I’m not, uh, satisfied.”

Shiro’s whole body jolts. He breathes out, hard, shaking his head. “Okay,” he says, and there’s something rough catching on the edge of his voice. “It’s okay. They’ll get here. I promise, they’ll get here.”

Heat spikes in Keith’s gut. “Shiro—”

“They _will_.” It’s harsh and angry, spit into the air between them, and Keith chokes on another moan and curls both arms around his stomach. After a split second the hardness in Shiro’s eyes softens, and he drags his metal hand over his face. “Fuck. Keith, I’m sorry.”

_Do it again._

“You know they might not,” Keith says instead. His vision is starting to blur. Except Shiro’s face, which stands out in stark relief against the fuzziness at the edges of Keith’s eyes. He’s beautiful, and Keith aches. “If they don’t—will you—"

Shiro’s eyes go wide and he twitches, chain clinking behind him. “Absolutely not,” he snaps. “I can’t—Keith, you can’t consent right now, I’m not doing anything to you.”

It almost makes Keith laugh. Shiro’s keeping things appropriate even when Keith’s in danger of dying. And that—that’s just like him, isn’t it. Never pushing the boundaries of their relationship. Never infringing on Keith’s comfort zone. Their friendship is just that, a friendship, and Shiro only sees him as a kid with potential. Someone to mentor.

But God, Keith wants him so much. So desperately.

Even if it was just for one heat. Just until Keith wasn’t in danger of burning himself out. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, if he could just have Shiro once.

“Keith, are you . . .” Shiro sounds wrecked.

Keith breathes in slow and wavering, hiccuping on the sob caught in his throat. Tears well up in his eyes, slide down his cheeks, cold against the burning heat of his skin. “Hormones,” he chokes out, throws an arm over his eyes. Fuck. _Fuck_. It hurts even to breathe, like his ribs are crushing in, collapsing around his lungs. “I’m—fine.”

“Keith—”

“God, fuck.” He shakes his head. Shiro smells so good, he smells like warmth and comfort and _home_ , and Keith just _wants_ . He feels empty and cold even with the sweat soaking through his undersuit. “Shiro, I—please, I can’t, I _can’t_.”

“Stay with me, Keith.” Shiro’s voice is steady. Roughened. “I’m right here, okay? I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

He has to believe that. Because if he can’t trust Shiro, who else is there?

“It hurts,” Keith grits out, teeth pressed together hard enough to ache. “It hurts, _fuck_.”

“I know, Keith. I know. But we’re gonna make it through this, okay?”

Heat twists up in his gut and cramps so painfully that Keith keens, curls over himself with arms around his middle. Something hot and slick gushes out of his hole. He’s so _empty_.

“ _Shiro_ ,” he cries, eyes squeezed shut, tears leaking out. “Please, _please_ , I need—I need you, _please_.”

Shiro’s breathing is loud in the silence of the room. “Keith . . .” His voice, the way he says Keith’s name, it’s _igniting_ something in Keith. Fire burns along his veins, racing like a drug, like adrenaline. Bright enough to be painful. “I can’t, Keith. Not like this.” The chain creaks. “You don’t want me, Keith, not really.”

“I do—Shiro, _c’mon_.”

“No. This is the heat talking.” But Keith’s wanted Shiro for years without being in heat. Every time Shiro puts a hand on his shoulder, or wraps him up in a hug, or smiles like they’re sharing a secret. Every damn time it makes Keith’s heart throb. “I won’t do this to you, Keith. I can’t be that selfish, not when you don’t really want it. It wouldn’t be fair.”

Keith shakes his head, because that doesn’t even make sense. “Shiro. Shiro, Shiro, _please_ . It—fuck—it _hurts_.”

“They’ll come,” Shiro whispers. “They have to come. God, please. I can’t—”

He never gets to finish the sentence. The door slides open, and Keith hears a distant growl, and everything fades to black.

* * *

“Here you are,” Allura says, pressing a small, metal bottle into Keith’s palm. It saps some of the leftover heat from his skin. “They aren’t suppressants, exactly, but it’s the best I could do on short notice.”

Keith breaths in deep. Nods once. His head still aches, and he still feels empty, but the heat isn’t scorching his bones anymore. Maybe this is what a normal heat feels like. “Thank you.”

“You’ll need to take one of the capsules every few hours,” Allura says. One of her slender hands curls Keith’s around the bottle and holds, gentle and cool on his skin. Blue eyes stare at him, bright and sad. “I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do to stop the heat at this point, but these will make it more manageable. You won’t be in danger of heat stroke, I promise.”

“Thanks,” he says again, because there’s not much else to say.

Allura leaves him after that. Keith watches until the door slides shut behind her. Then his eyes flicker down to the nondescript bottle in his palm.

He doesn’t remember much of what happened after they rescued them. He didn’t quite pass out but everything went dark, and there’s not much in his memory except for warmth and the low thrum of Shiro’s voice. Then the cold prick of a needle, and he woke up in the castle’s infirmary with Allura hovering over him, out of his undersuit and dressed in loose cotton scrubs.

Now, the worst of the heat is dulled, and all Keith can feel is empty. Even when he was in heat Shiro rejected him. He ignored the most basic instinct of humanity.

And Keith cried like a little kid.

His eyes still sting every time he blinks. Like he’s still just on the knife’s-edge of crying, still clinging to his fragile balance. It’s pathetic. Pathetic and stupid and exhausting.

It’s just. It all seems unfair. But the thing is, it’s _not_. It’s not unfair at all. It’s just Keith’s fucking life.

A memory itches at the back of Keith’s head. Shiro said something about unfairness, didn’t he? When Keith was out of his mind with heat. He said . . . he said it wouldn’t be fair.

He couldn’t be selfish.

That doesn’t make any sense. Because if anything, Keith was the selfish one, asking a man who sees him as nothing but a friend to help him through his heat. He was the one trying to take advantage. Shiro made it damn clear he wasn’t interested. Keith kept trying anyway.

But why did Shiro say it would be selfish?

Because he thinks Keith doesn’t want it. But that wouldn’t make him selfish, helping Keith. That wouldn’t be unfair. It might’ve even saved his life.

So if Shiro thinks he has something to feel guilty over—if Shiro thinks he has reason to feel selfish—

Keith doesn’t even hesitate for a second before hopping off the sterile white bed and storming out the door of the infirmary, pill bottle in hand.

Nobody tries to stop him as he walks through the Castle’s walls. Nobody’s around to stop him. Good. Keith’s knees still feel weak but it’s determination coursing through his veins now, not just liquid heat. He could still take all of them down if they tried getting in his way.

Keith walks until he gets to Shiro’s door. Then he knocks, fist stinging from the force of it, and stands waiting with his head held high.

The first thing Keith notices when the door slides open is how wrecked Shiro looks. His hair’s a mess, like his fingers have been running through it, and there’s a grimness to the set of his jaw. Small, inconsequential things that Keith can see right through. Shiro is tired, and stressed, and worked up, and a little bubble of hope grows in his chest.

Then Shiro’s eyes go wide. “Keith—!”

Before the door can slide shut Keith barrels inside. Shiro’s surprise is enough that Keith gets past him, gets fully into the room, slamming his palm against the button to close the door.

It slides shut with a hiss. Then there’s just the two of them, in the silence of Shiro’s room.

“Keith,” Shiro says again, more urgency in his voice now. He moves jaggedly towards the door release but Keith steps in his way. “You need to leave right now, Keith. I’m serious.”

Keith doesn’t leave. Doesn’t even move. Just lifts his chin, jaw set in defiance.

“Do you want me?”

Something that’s almost a growl rumbles in Shiro’s chest. His eyes flash dangerously, predatorily, and Keith’s never been so happy to feel like prey before. “I—I’m not having this conversation right now. You should go back to the infirmary, Keith.”

Keith crosses his arms. “Shiro. Do you _want me_.” He enunciates each word carefully, separately, punctuating each one by leaning forward just a little closer.

Shiro takes half a step back. “You’re still in heat, Keith.”

“Not really.” Keith lifts up the little pill bottle. Shakes it. The little pills rattle against the metal. “Allura gave me these to dull it.” He narrows his eyes. “I’m thinking clearly, Shiro. And you’re gonna tell me why you wouldn’t touch me."

Shiro swallows. “I really don’t think this is—”

“You said it would be selfish.”

Dark eyes go wide, staring at Keith with something almost like fear. “I didn’t think you would remember,” Shiro says, so quiet it’s barely a murmur. “I thought . . .” He swallows again.

“Do you want me, Shiro?” Now it’s Keith’s turn to swallow. Blood rushes to his already heat-flushed skin, making his cheeks burn an even brighter red. He stares at Shiro until the heat of his gaze bores too deep and then his eyes fall, landing safely over Shiro’s shoulder. “Because I want you.”

Shiro makes a sound like he’s been punched. It’s enough to bring Keith’s eyes back to him. He’s just staring. Wide-eyed and slack-jawed.

“It’s not just heat,” Keith says, his voice cracking and breathy. “I haven’t had a heat in years but I’ve wanted you since—for a long time.”

“You . . .” Shiro blinks at him. “Keith . . .”

He looks frozen in place. So Keith steps forward. Drops the pill bottle onto the ground with a clatter of metal. Moves until he’s close enough to touch, until his crooked fingers can curl gently around Shiro’s biceps. Shiro’s a mess of contrasts, warm skin, cool metal, and sweat trickles down Keith’s spine just from being so close.

“Spend my heat with me.” Thankfully it doesn’t come out as a plea. It’s an offer. The next logical conclusion. “I’m consenting, Shiro. I want this.”

 _I want you. Please, just say yes. You don’t even have to love me_.

For a long second Shiro doesn’t say anything. Keith’s fingers dig harder into his arm, press almost tight enough to bruise. Now that Shiro’s within reach he can’t let go. He won’t.

Finally, Shiro breathes out a long, slow breath. His eyes drift closed. Another breath, more like a sigh. Then his eyes open, burning coal setting fire to Keith’s skin, and two broad hands press lightly against Keith’s waist.

“Okay.”

Keith can’t help the smile that curves across his face. “Okay,” he repeats. Neither of them move. A wry grin slants Keith’s mouth. “You can touch me more than that, you know.”

It startles a laugh out of Shiro. His hands tighten around Keith’s trim waist and a jolt of white-hot electricity rushes through Keith’s veins at the feeling. He tugs hard and Keith stumbles against his chest, arms winding around Shiro’s shoulders instinctively. Their faces are inches apart like this. Shiro’s breath is warm on his lips.

Shiro grins, eyes glinting like black diamonds. “Are you going to be this bossy the entire time?”

Keith bares his teeth. Digs his nails into Shiro’s shoulderblades. “Find out,” he snarls, and it’s a promise.

Another growl vibrates against Keith’s chest, and finally, _finally_ , Shiro leans down and slots their mouths together.

It’s not a perfect kiss. Keith’s lips are dry and cracked and they’re both pressing hard enough to bruise and Shiro’s arms are so tight around him that he can’t breathe but it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t _fucking_ matter. Shiro is kissing him. Shiro’s mouth is on his, hot and insistent, licking into his mouth when Keith’s lips part on a moan.

Metal fingers close around the back of Keith’s neck, angle his head just so—and suddenly the kiss is _filthy_ , all tongue and teeth, and Keith keens high in the back of his throat. Heat blazes to life in his gut, suddenly brighter than a star, hot wherever Shiro’s touching him.

It’s overwhelming. Impossible. Devastating. He can’t breathe, panting against Shiro’s open mouth. This heat—it’s different, brighter, hotter, _more_.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Keith growls against Shiro’s mouth. “Fuck, Shiro—”

Shiro presses a messy kiss against his cheek, then his jaw, sucking bruises along Keith’s jawline. Each one stings with an electric sort of pain. “I’ve got you,” Shiro says against Keith’s throat. He presses a single, soft kiss to the vein there. “I’ve got you, baby.”

 _Oh_.

Slick gushes out of Keith’s hole and drips down his thigh. Keith keens, clenches down hard around nothing, heat cramping around the emptiness in his gut.

“Shiro,” and he grabs Shiro by the hair, drags him back up to slot their mouths together, messy and _so fucking good_. Then Keith pulls back, tugging on Shiro’s hair, and stares at him hard. “Fuck me.”

Something dark and dangerous flashes over Shiro’s eyes. His hands press into Keith’s back, dig down further, hard on his tailbone, then lower. Fingers dig into the cleft of Keith’s ass and press against his hole, and Keith’s voice breaks on a moan as more slick spills down his thighs.

“C’mon, baby,” Shiro says, low and ragged. He scoops Keith up like he weighs less than nothing, dumps him on the bed seconds later.

Keith lands hard. Bounces once. Catches himself on his elbows and tilts his head up to _stare_ , at the shadow of Shiro standing above him, the broad lines of his shoulders, the thick corded muscle through his entire body. Keith’s nose twitches, catching a scent like electricity and gunpowder and, somehow, the vast black reaches of space. An endless black like Shiro’s eyes, shadowed by his brow. Eyes still caught on Keith, tracking desperate heat across his body.

It’s too much, too hot. Keith’s thighs press together. “ _Shiro_ ,” he whines, arms shaking under him, head tipping back on a thready moan. “Shiro, c’mon, _please_.”

All at once he’s smothered, held down by the weight of Shiro’s body. Keith’s arms give out, head falling back against the mattress. “You’re so pretty when you beg, baby,” Shiro says through a wicked grin, baring his teeth.

Keith tips his head back, bares his neck. “ _Please_ ,” he moans. “Please, Shiro, touch me, I want you, I want you—”

“I’m right here, Keith,” Shiro says. He presses a messy kiss to Keith’s throat. “I’m not going anywhere, I promise.” Another kiss to the hollow of Keith’s collarbones.

Keith grits out a moan, frustration bursting in his chest. He bucks up his hips, wraps one leg around Shiro’s hip. Their dicks press together, hard and hot even through layers of clothing, and Keith curls both hands around Shiro’s jaw and tugs his head up to glare at him. “Then _get inside me_.”

Shiro dips low, chuckles against Keith’s ear. “Alright, alright. No need to be so pushy, baby.”

Keith’s entire body shakes. “Want you,” he says, hands falling near his head. “Want you to fuck me.”

The heat is an all-consuming, all-encompassing thing. It hurts at the same time it’s thrilling, burning brilliant in Keith’s gut. Shiro’s touch just ignites it more, kerosene on an open flame, high noon in a red desert.

Shiro makes quick work of the cotton scrubs, tossing them somewhere over his shoulder. Then he leans back on his knees, dark eyes roving over Keith’s skin.

Keith squirms, heat flushing his skin. He gasps for air, clenches his fingers weakly in Shiro’s bedsheets, tightens the muscles in his thighs to keep them from trembling. Shiro’s gaze is like a physical touch, white-hot, almost painful in its intensity. And Keith just _wants_ , so badly he can’t breathe.

“You’re beautiful,” Shiro says, a smile tugging at his mouth. “God, Keith . . .” He doesn’t continue, just tugs his shirt up over his head.

He’s—he’s fucking gorgeous. Broad shoulders and hard muscle and scars scattered over his skin. Keith keens. Shiro’s an _alpha_ , the perfect alpha. And he’s here, on top of Keith, holding him down with dark eyes and a dangerous grin.

A dangerous grin that falters when his fingers fall to his pants. “Keith—shit.” Shiro bites down hard, jaw twitching. The heat in his eyes doesn’t cool but it shutters away for just a second and it aches in Keith’s chest. He can’t—Shiro can’t pull away now, he can’t, he _can’t_ , Keith couldn’t take it. But Shiro’s frowning now, eyes flickering off to the side. “We don’t have condoms, Keith.”

Keith shakes his head. “I don’t care,” he says, staring up wide-eyed. “I don’t care, Shiro, I don’t care, knot me—”

“I’m not—” Shiro groans. His head falls, face shadowed. “We can’t, Keith. Not without protection. And don’t even suggest pulling out—”

“No, Shiro.” Keith shakes his head. “No, it’s—I’m on birth control.” He lifts his arm, twists it so Shiro can see the little white patch on the underside of his upper arm. Shiro blinks, brows furrowing. “Helps with preheat,” Keith expands, because that’s the reason why. And birth control can actually be taken daily, hence the patch. Not like suppressants.

“You . . .” Shiro’s eyes go wide, and his smile curves wide. “You are something else, Keith.”

A wave of heat cramps in Keith’s gut. He groans, eyes squeezing shut. “Hurry up,” he chokes out. “Shiro, c’mon, _hurry up_ —”

There’s a rustle of fabric and a creak of the bed, and suddenly Shiro’s on top of him again. Skin to skin, burning hot enough to make Keith’s mind stutter.

Shiro ducks down, bites a mark into Keith’s neck. It’s electric, the pain of his teeth. If he did that while he was inside Keith—if he bit a mark into his throat, deep enough to draw blood—they’d be bonded, they’d be tied, they’d be _mates_ , and Keith’s heart lurches.

He hiccups, tears beading in his lashes. “Shiro,” he whispers. “Shiro, I want—”

 _I can’t tell you. I want to tell you so bad but I can’t_.

“I know, baby.” Shiro hushes him, hands digging into Keith’s hips. “I know.”

 _No, you don’t. You can’t_.

“I’ll take care of you,” Shiro says. It’s a promise, and Keith swallows down a sob. Instead he spreads his legs, hitches his thighs up around Shiro’s waist. Shiro reaches down between them.

The blunt head of his cock presses hot and heavy against Keith’s hole. “ _Oh_ ,” Keith says, his voice small.

“You can take it, baby,” Shiro says. His eyes haven’t once left Keith’s face. “I’ve got you.”

He presses in, and Keith forgets how to breathe.

He chokes, eyes wide, staring unseeing at the fuzzy lines of Shiro’s face. It’s just the head but it’s—it’s so much, too much already, too hot, scorching Keith’s insides. His fingers scrabble at the bedsheets, at Shiro’s waist.

Shiro’s hips still. His nose sweeps across Keith’s cheek. “You alright?”

Keith swallows. Blinks hot tears out of his eyes. Then he looks at Shiro again. “More.”

Shiro pushes in further. Further and further, until it feels like Keith’s lungs have collapsed, until it feels like he’s carved out a space inside Keith. Until his hips press flush with Keith’s, and all the air punches out of Keith in a gasp.

It’s—it’s everything. Shiro is so _big_ and Keith is so full. His legs are shaking, his hands trembling, the heat churning dark and desperate in his gut.

Shiro’s head falls next to Keith’s. “Fuck,” he hisses, low and heady in Keith’s ear. “Fuck, Keith, you feel incredible.”

“Shiro,” Keith says, and it comes out on a broken moan. “Shiro, Shiro. I want—”

 _Knot me. Bite me. Make me yours_.

“—I want you to move,” is what Keith says instead. “Please, just move.”

So Shiro does. He pulls out, slow and careful, and Keith barely has the time to feel empty before he’s sliding back in. Again, and again. Long, steady thrusts, deep and devastating, stoking the fire under Keith’s skin. Every thrust is a jolt of electricity, building up the desperation, building up Keith, until he’s on the edge of something, held in perfect balance by the steady rhythm of Shiro’s hips.

It’s all too much—but at the same time it’s not enough. Not enough to push Keith over. And he needs the fall, needs to relieve the pressure building like a dam in his chest.

“Fa-aster,” he stutters. “Please, Shiro.”

Shiro digs his teeth into Keith’s collarbone, biting down hard enough that pain flares brief and electric. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Keith shakes his head furiously, breathing around a sob. “No, no, you won’t, Shiro, _c’mon_.”

_We fit together. Don’t you feel it? You can’t hurt me._

He doesn’t say it. Just tightens his thighs around Shiro’s waist. And Shiro sighs, or growls, or something between the two. Eyes like chips of obsidian drag over Keith’s face.

“Look at you,” Shiro says, voice rough, dragged out of him in the quiet of the room. “You’re so beautiful, Keith. You’re so amazing. You’re going to take my knot so well, aren’t you?”

Keith’s bones shake and tremble in his skin. The heat is something liquid now, flowing through him, over him, dripping over his ribs and lapping at his spine. A push-pull like the tides, like the steady movements of Shiro’s hips.

“I can take it,” Keith chokes out. He gasps on another thrust, tips his head back and swears he hears Shiro curse. “I can take it, Shiro. I want—I want you to—”

_Lose control._

Finally, he has the words. Shiro is the perfect picture of control. Measured thrusts, controlled expression, arms braced perfectly on either side of Keith’s head. Only his eyes betray him. Betray the wild, dangerous thing underneath. The alpha. The instinct. The deepest, darkest part of Shiro.

Keith _wants_ . He _aches_ for it, for that secret hidden under Shiro’s skin. He wants to see everything. He wants everything.

Shiro grins, wicked and menacing. “What do you want, baby?”

Crooked fingers drift up between them. Keith presses his fingertips to Shiro’s face, drags them across the bridge of his nose, soft against the scar tissue. Curls his fingers over Shiro’s jaw, drags through the scruff there Shiro hadn’t gotten the time to shave. He watches the path his fingers carve over Shiro’s skin.

When he looks back at Shiro’s eyes, they’re heartbreaking. Too big and too full and too dark. Keith tugs him down, presses a soft kiss against the corner of his mouth. Then he pushes Shiro up until he can look at him again. “Let go,” he says. “Let go, Shiro. Don’t hide from me.”

Shiro’s hips stutter and Keith keens, fingers slipping away from Shiro’s face, curling into the bedsheets. “Keith . . .”

“Please,” he grits out. “I wanna see you. I wanna see you.”

Heat curls around Keith’s spine. Shiro breaths hard. “I—”

“I want you.” He sobs around the words. Tears spill over his cheeks, falling down his temples, hotter and wetter than the sweat on Keith’s skin. It hurts to breathe, his chest is too tight. “Shiro, I _want you_.”

Shiro shudders. Keith feels it in his core. “You have me, Keith.”

His dick hits a spark inside Keith and he cries out, wordless and high, until it cracks. Heat and light and something brilliant burst in Keith’s chest, a sob rising in his throat, and the words spill out messy and slurred. “I love you,” he cries. “I love you, I love you, I love you so much—”

A growl rips through the air, and the next thrust knocks every last breath out of Keith’s lungs.

“You’re impossible,” Shiro snarls. He sounds wild, his thrusts are hard and fast and deep and Keith shouts, wraps his arms around Shiro’s neck. Fingers curl hard around Keith’s thighs and wrench them up, pushing through the stretch until Keith’s bent almost in half.

It _hurts_ and it’s so good, so perfect, and Keith can’t breathe, can’t even cry anymore.

Shiro fucks him like an animal. Vicious, dragging thrusts. Teeth digging sharp pain into Keith’s shoulders, his collarbone, his jaw. A growl rumbling in the space between them, low and heavy enough Keith feels it in his bones.

It’s everything Keith wanted. It’s _Shiro_ , all the danger hidden behind his smile, the anger and the fury. The desperation. It’s _everything_.

The force of it shoves Keith until his balance is broken. He tips, and screams, and falls over the edge.

Blinding light sparks behind his eyes. Heat courses through his veins like a drug, sweet and addictive like adrenaline, sharp enough to hurt. Fire burns through him, so bright he can’t breathe—

The fever breaks, and Keith lands hard back into his body.

“Fuck,” Shiro hisses in his ear. He’s pressed in close, all the way inside, nose against Keith’s jaw. “Fuck, baby, that was beautiful.” He’s not thrusting anymore. Just making little motions with his hips.

And then Keith feels it. “ _Oh_ ,” he chokes.

Shiro’s knot. Growing inside him, pushing against his walls. It’s tight, and then it _burns_ , and Keith’s breath catches on a sob. It grows until Keith feels like he might burst, and then it stops.

Then Shiro starts coming.

Everything settles into place. Keith falls back onto the bed, arms going slack around Shiro’s neck. He lays there. Breathes. Slow and deep, even though he still feels breathless.

It feels . . . right.

Shiro lets go of Keith’s thighs, letting his legs fall back down. He wraps both arms around Keith’s waist and twists, shifting them until he’s on his back with Keith on top of them. Every move tugs on the knot, makes Keith moan.

Then it’s quiet. Quiet, and dark, and warm, and the heat in Keith’s blood is a gentle, soothing warmth.

For a while they just breathe. Keith rests his head on Shiro’s chest, listens to his heartbeat. It’s lulling. Like white noise or the drone of an engine or the hum of the desert at night. Like home.

“I meant it,” Keith says to the silence.

Shiro doesn’t say anything for a long time. The hands on Keith’s waist press in a little tighter.

Keith’s hands are shaking. He’s never been a coward, though, so he lifts his head and looks Shiro right in the eye. “I meant it,” he repeats, “when I said I love you.”

Shiro’s eyes go wide. A hundred emotions flash across his face, too fast for Keith to name. But then his expression softens. “Oh, Keith,” Shiro murmurs. He takes Keith by the chin, pulls him up slow. He presses his mouth to Keith’s. Gentle. Claiming.

Keith’s heart soars.

When Shiro pulls away, he’s still not quite smiling. He looks dumbstruck. And something about it settles Keith’s terrified pulse.

“I love you, baby,” Shiro says. Finally, he smiles. It lights up his whole face, makes him look years younger, and Keith can barely breathe. “I love you more than anything.”

Keith kisses him again, just because he can. Long and slow and unhurried, because he doesn't have to rush this. He doesn't have to worry about it ending. 

Shiro pulls away with a breathless laugh. "You love me," he says, like he can't believe it, but there's a smile on his face and Keith doesn't bother worrying about it just yet. They're happy. "I just . . . wow. I wish I'd known sooner." His smile stretches into a grin that sends heat rushing through Keith's blood. "We could've been doing this for so long, Keith."

"How long?"

Shiro must know what Keith is asking. "I think I first started realizing it when you saved my life," Shiro says, all soft and fond. "The day I crashed on Earth. And then you just kept being so incredible, so clever, so  _fearless_. You gave your all in the fight for the universe, and you gave your all for  _me_." Dark eyes catch Keith's, keep him pinned. "You're the most incredible person I've ever met, Keith." 

The moment lingers between them. Warm and hazy, tinged with something soft and sweet.

Then Shiro raises an eyebrow. "What about you? How long has it been for you?"

"Since before Kerberos."

Shiro chokes on air. His hands go tight around Keith's waist, his eyes go wide and  _haunted_. "Keith, I had no idea—"

"Not right now." Everything is so warm right now, so perfect. They don't need to ruin it opening up old scars. Keith buried that particular hurt months ago. "I got you back. I'm fine now, Shiro."

 _I'll be fine, as long as I have you. As long as I never lose you again_.

It's like Shiro knows exactly what he's thinking. He always has. Keith's never been able to hide from him. Shiro sits up suddenly, Keith still locked in his lap. Arms wrap around him tight, so tight Keith almost can't breathe. "I'll never leave you again," Shiro says, whispered harsh against Keith's hair. "Never, Keith. I swear."

Keith nods. Tucks his head against Shiro's chest. "I trust you," he says, and feels it like a supernova under his skin. Like the swoop in his stomach when he used to look up at a dark, starry sky. Like pure, unchanging truth. "I trust you," he says, and it feels like forever.

**Author's Note:**

> They say each other's names so many times in this fic . . . which is like, legit in-character. 
> 
> Merry Sheithmas, everyone! Hope you all had great holidays!


End file.
